


Part Three: The Viper in the Barracks

by HermaiaMoira



Series: Il Doctore: a Hannibal/Spartacus crossover [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Crucifixion, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fellatio, Hannibal is a Cannibal, M/M, Pregnant Sex, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 06:02:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2337812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermaiaMoira/pseuds/HermaiaMoira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is part three of the Hannibal Ancient Rome alternate universe series, "Il Doctore." Will continues to have nightmares about the people who have died in connection to Hannibal, and he decides to look into their deaths. Hannibal meets Lucretia Batiatus and Ilithyia Glaber, and discovers that he can influence them. Meanwhile, Aeliana confronts Will about her suspicions toward Hannibal, and his obsession. Hannibal gives Will even more reasons for him to be obsessed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part Three: The Viper in the Barracks

**Author's Note:**

> Some helpful words:  
> Triclinium - special dining room for feasts and parties, that contained dining couches as permanent fixtures  
> Praetor - a Roman official of higher political standing than a senator
> 
> This fiction contains an intact actual scene from Spartacus: Vengeance, in order to give context.

Will sat behind his desk in his cubiculum as Octavio poured him a glass of wine from a large, round glass jug. He looked to one side, and saw Aeliana sitting in a chair, gripping the arms with her hands, digging fingernails into the wood and staring ahead.

“Aeliana,” he said in surprise at her being in this room, but his words came out as if they were wrapped in cotton. She didn’t look up, and her nails made louder scraping sounds against the arms of her chair. Her lips began to move, but her voice was too quiet to hear.

“Dominus,” Octavio said, and handed him the glass. He lifted it to his lips and drank. His eyes closed in ecstasy. The taste was beyond intoxicating. The wine coated his mouth in a delightful sweetness, and he couldn’t stop the flood of different notes, each entering his mind at a different time. They began as succulent fruits, barrel woods, flowers, childhood smells, and began to enter nonsensical abstracts such as pride and security.

“Does the dominus enjoy the taste?” he heard a familiar voice say in a distinguished accent.

He opened his eyes and looked at the glass jug on the desk before him. Something swirled within it. Streams of red within red, circling around a center. He looked closer, and the center rotated slowly. Floating in the wine, the severed head of Rufina Cassius looked back at him.

Will’s sleep had become increasingly fitful and filled with such bad dreams. Sometimes he awoke in the night, scanning the darkest corners of his room for strange figures. He found himself dozing quite a bit during the day. Today he sat in the warm sun of his garden, reclined on the bench, with his head in Aeliana’s lap. She always enjoyed sitting with him in the garden, but even more so these days. In fact, it seemed to be the only place she looked comfortable and relaxed, away from the main villa and the barracks. She read some work from the New Poets while he watched the outline of tree branches against the sun from behind his eyelids, and slipped in and out of consciousness. Her hand worked through his hair, tugging lightly at his scalp, and he felt at peace again.

“You were nodding off again, my love,” whispered Aeliana.

Will looked back up at her.

“I didn’t sleep much last night,” he confessed.

“My sleep has also been affected as of late,” she said. “What is keeping you up?”

Will rubbed his face.

“Nightmares.”

Aeliana put her hand on his collar and soothed him.

“The dead come to visit,” he said with a dry laugh.

“Thoughtless of them. What do they want?”

“I think they want me to see them,” Will replied.

“Were they not seen enough in this life?” Aeliana asked.

“Perhaps not.”

Will looked down at a beetle crawling over a rock on the ground. One of his dogs sniffed at it, nudging it with his nose.

“You see people,” Aeliana said. “Maybe that’s why they come to you.”

“I do not think they are actual phantoms,” Will said, grinning up at her. “Just the wandering imagination of an anxious man.”

“Anxiety embodies itself as a phantom. Perhaps it is your innermost thoughts that are haunting you, begging to be seen.”

Will sat up.

“I feel unable to move on from what happened with Rufina and Cassius.”

“I do not blame you. A man impaled himself on your doorstep.”

“It’s not the trauma,” Will explained. “It’s the lack of understanding. I did not know why he did what he did, or how any of this happened to him.”

“The answers lie on the lips of the dead,” Aeliana sighed. She remembered seeing Octavio speaking to Hannibal days ago. He seemed upset. But after some time, as she watched silently from the balcony, his face softened and his body became relaxed. Hannibal put a hand on his shoulder, and Octavio put his hand on Hannibal’s arm, touching the doctore’s new brand with his fingers. She approached Octavio afterward, asking him what had been said.

“I beg your forgiveness, Domina,” Octavio replied. She raised her eyebrow at his sudden usage of the ownership term. “I have come to realize that what I experienced was a gustatory hallucination.”

“What?” asked Aeliana.

“It is not uncommon for men my age,” he explained, “to be suddenly stricken with a familiar taste tied to some repressed memory. I deeply regret impugning Doctore Hannibal. He has been nothing but a boon to this villa.”

“Gustatory hallucination,” Aeliana mumbled to herself now, as she sat beside Will in the garden.

“What?” he asked, “did you just have one?”

“I’ve never had such a thing,” she replied, “Have you?”

“Oh yes,” answered Will. “Octavio used to make this boiled tripe dish that my father loved. I despised it! Couldn’t stand the taste! But my father insisted that I try it again from time to time, saying that ‘tastes change with age’ and that someday I might find myself loving it.”

“Did you?”

“No, and I stopped trying it after he was gone. But every now and then I suddenly taste it in my mouth, as clear as if I had taken a bite. And I remember my father sitting beside me, waiting to see my reaction. And Octavio chuckling at my facial expression.”

Aeliana smiled.

“What made you think of it?” he asked her.

“Just remembering something someone said to me earlier. It’s nothing.”

Will stood up, he looked back at the villa.

“You are still so restless,” she said.

“I think I might go into Rome,” Will replied. “I need to see to some things.”

“Shall I return to my father’s?”

“No,” Will said, “Stay here. Enjoy the quiet. I know how you like the rural outdoors.”

Aeliana was uneasy.

“Perhaps you should bring Hannibal with you, Will,” she said. “The city has grown more violent, and the villa is well-guarded.”

Will agreed and headed off to find him.

Aeliana stepped closer to the villa and saw Octavio sitting on a bench outside of his own quarters. He had pulled up his tunic past his loin cloth and was drawing on his upper thigh in charcoal.

 

When the two men approached the former domus of House Porcius, they noticed two guards stood at the entrance. Hannibal climbed out and held the door open for Will.

“This domus is empty, Magister,” the guard said politely. “All of the slaves have been evacuated, and we stand guard until the family of Senator Porcius can claim the property.”

“I have heard of the tragedy that occurred here,” Will said. “Cassius Porcius and his daughter, Rufina, were friends of mine. I have only come to pay my respects and say a prayer at their family shrine.”

The speaking guard looked at the other, who nodded.

“I can escort you to the house, please follow me.”

They walked up to the vacant building.

“Hannibal,” he said, “would you wait outside the entrance?”

Hannibal agreed and folded his hands in front of him as he stood watch beside the door. He peered in after Will and the guard as they disappeared into the darkness of the vacant building.

It took a moment for Will‘s eyes to grow adjusted to the dim light. The air smelled sickly sweet. The windows had been shuttered, letting very little light in. Will lifted a jug and sniffed it, his nose crinkling. It still contained a bit of spoiled wine.

“Only the most perfunctory cleaning has been done in preparation for Porcius’ family to send their own.”

Will looked at the couch in the atrium. A blanket lie rumpled over it and a single throw pillow was dented from a sleeping head having been placed upon it.

 _Cassius Porcius killed his daughter,_ he thought, _disposed of the body, and then… took a nap._ Will cringed at the way that sounded to himself.

 _Perhaps he killed her in a drunken stupor before passing out,_ he suggested instead. _Tacitus, the loyal vilicus sees the evidence and wants to protect his master. He disposes of the body with an unknown helper._

That sounded somewhat better. He made his way into Rufina’s room. The blankets were folded and place on the bed, and the statuette had been put up on a small table.

“That is what he used,” the guard said, pointing at the object. Then he pointed at a spot near a shrine against the wall. “That is where the blood pooled.”

Both the floor and the statue had been cleaned, but the place still held the stain of panic.

“Was there blood anywhere else in the room?” he asked.

“No, Magister,” the guard answered. “It was only in that spot. It is my understanding that the room has not been touched aside from what most needed to be cleaned.”

“Would you be so kind as to give me a moment by myself, to pray for the departed?”

The guard obliged, and Will lit some of the candles on the shrine. The light filled the room. Soon he was alone.

He peered out through the hall, at the atrium. The couch was in sight. Will shook his head, and then furrowed his brow. He felt odd in this house. It was as if he was reading it all in a book, a story that had no ending and it was up to the reader to infer from all of the details. He felt the urge to turn the page, and walked toward the statuette. He picked it up and looked at the corner of it that looked worn and chipped. He lifted the statue, then stopped, and rolled it around in his hand until it felt comfortable. With a grunt he thrust downward in a beating motion. It required force, and focused aim.

“I am Tacitus,” Will said. “I’ve just found out that my dominus impregnated his own daughter. I must get rid of her, for his sake.”

He gestured at the door to the hallway.

“Cassius Porcius has fallen asleep. I have ordered all the slaves to go their quarters. I come in here, pick up the statue…” He looked over the bed, where the clean sheets were rumpled a bit in his direction, toward the edge. His voice grew hushed when he realized something new. “Rufina Porcius is awake.”

He backed up to the spot the guard had pointed out to him.

“She sits on the edge of the bed. She gets up. Walks a sufficient distance this way, toward me.”

He scowled and continued to talk to himself, eyes darting around the room. He heard every object hum.

_Why is she walking toward me? She wouldn’t get out of bed for a slave. An older male slave in her quarters while she slept… she’d bark at him to leave._

The shrine was covered in a linen tablecloth. Will spotted a small circular indent in the fabric. He took the statuette and put it in the circle. It fit perfectly. A peculiar look came over his face and he suddenly dipped down and crawled under the shrine, hidden by the cloth. He lie underneath, and closed his eyes. He felt a strange patience come over him. _Waiting._

He climbed out and went to sit on the bed. He looked to one side at a polished looking glass. His own face was reflected back at him. He thought of Rufina, recently undressed and preparing for sleep. He lie down, closed his eyes, and thought about the events of her last day. Going to Villa Capanna, expecting to buy a gladiator, being insulted by Will Capanna, slapping his face, leaving angrily. His face contorted, but then relaxed. He felt the desire to fall into sleep. Then his eyes snapped open.

_There’s someone in my room._

He sat up on the edge of her bed, his eyes focused on something in the middle-distance. He stared at the spot next to the shrine, looked at the statuette waiting to be picked up. He thought he could make out the shimmering silhouette of a figure. He squinted.

 _He’s already out of his hiding place_.

Will stood.

“I don’t scream. I walk toward him.” He followed his own instructions. “In nothing but my sleeping tunic. To a strange intruder… no.”

The silhouette gained clarity.

“He doesn’t belong here,” then waves of foreign emotions came over him, “but I am pleased that he is.”

He could sense the appeal of the figure standing by the shrine. A man in the prime of his life, strong, handsome, but more than that. He felt excited, as though someone great had entered the room. Someone he admired. He walked further toward the spot, and put a hand out to touch.

“He stands perfectly still, graciously allowing me approach him.”

He broke from his reverie and walked toward the statue. He picked it up and examined it once more. Then he looked up. There was Rufina, standing in front of him. She had an amused smile on her face. Her tunic was loose on her body, her pale skin glowing in the candlelight. She reached out to him, placing a hand on his chest. She murmured to him words he couldn’t make out, but they were soft and seductive. Her face was filled with desire and absolute compliance.

Suddenly, he gripped the statuette in his hand and raised it above his head, bringing it downward and at an angle in forceful blows. His face twisted and he gnashed his teeth. He saw Rufina fall to her knees as he pummeled her skull.

“I am angry… hateful… but extremely controlled. There is no struggle, the candles on the shrine don’t even fall over. The blood is pooled in one spot. She came to me with a friendly approach, and I reward her with nearly instant death.”

He looked down at the statuette. It was spattered with blood and covered with bits of scalp and strands of ruby-red hair. Will stared at it and then blinked. The statue was clean again. He trembled. He had never felt like that before. Even with his temperamental nature, Will had never felt such contempt and disregard for human life. It made him feel sick, as though he had been temporarily possessed by a demonic force and then left shivering and weak. In that moment, it was as though the pretty, adoring young woman standing there was not a human life at all, but a disobedient beast that must be put down before it causes anymore trouble…

A soft cough interrupted his thoughts, and he looked to see Hannibal standing in the doorway. Will quickly put the statuette back on the shrine. Hannibal saw him carefully place the base of the statue inside of the circular indent, and raised an eyebrow.

“Are you all right, Dominus?” he asked. “You seem…”

“I’m fine,” Will nodded. He looked back at Hannibal and his glance became a gaze. He was very happy to see him there. He stood erect and noble in the doorway. The handsome face and inviting figure made him feel the urge to walk toward him. Then he stopped and swallowed.

Hannibal noticed the odd expression on his dominus’ face. His mouth opened a bit and he looked to one side. The shrine’s tablecloth had been lifted. He made a clicking sound at the back of his throat.

“Have you seen any ghosts?” he asked.

Will put his face in his hands, nodding again.

“In a matter of speaking.”

“What do they say?”

Will walked toward Hannibal, and as he did he felt his body grow warmer and warmer. It was simultaneously pleasant and ominous.

“That neither Cassius nor Tacitus killed Rufina. This man was outside of the household, somewhat a stranger, but admired by Rufina. He is the other man on horseback.”

“And what of Tacitus?” Hannibal asked.

“He must have helped. We should find his quarters.”

They both went to the slave quarters, to Tacitus’ room. It was so small that it only fit a bed, a narrow walkway beside it, and a small table at its side. The bed was a large wooden box topped with a thin cushion and a blanket. Will looked at the floor and noticed very faint scratch marks in front of the box. He lifted the table and set it on the bed, then pulled the box. It was very heavy, and made a deep scratching noise.

Hannibal stared at him for a moment in surprise. He was smiling when Will gestured at him to help. The young man stepped out of the narrow walkway and both he and Hannibal pushed the bed to the other side of the room, revealing an opening on the other side of the box. Will dropped down again.

“Dominus, allow me,” Hannibal said.

Will ignored him, and crawled under the bed. He pushed out bits of charcoal and candles.

“Prayer candles,” Hannibal murmured.

“Light one of those for me,” Will said, his voice muffled from under the bed.

Hannibal lit a candle and handed it to Will.

“What is this?” he asked.

Hannibal dropped down to take a look. A prayer circle had been drawn on the floor with charcoal, wax from the candles showed the spots where they had stood. Inside the circle was a symbol. A crude image of a sword breaking a link chain.

“I’ve seen this,” Hannibal answered. “That’s the symbol the guards found in Ren’s quarters. It stands for Spartacus and his rebellion.”

“Let the Roman guard know that Rufina was killed by a stranger, and that Tacitus has joined the rebellion.”

“Yes, Dominus,” Hannibal agreed, and left the room. He shot a last look at Will, who still lie under the bed, with his lit candle. The young man seemed to be praying.

 

The next day, Octavio received a sealed parchment from the courier, and read the exterior text. _Senator Metellus for Will Capanna_ , it read. He worked his blade between the parchment and the wax and opened it up.

_The Honorable Senator Metellus wishes to invite Will Capanna to join him as the guest of honor at his home, celebrating the new auxiliary army against the rebel Spartacus. The Senator also suggests that he be accompanied by his lovely fiancée Aeliana Flos. Sparring for the entertainment of the guests and to bring honor to the soldiers that will be fighting the rebellion shall commence. It is requested that Magister Capanna lend us his honorable doctore, Hannibal, to lead the events. Please respond via the courier. Sincerely, vilicus to Metellus, Senator of Rome._

Octavio sighed.

“Wait here,” he told the courier. “This shouldn’t take long.”

When Will accepted the senator’s invitation and asked Octavio to respond in the affirmative to all of his requests, Octavio was noticeably surprised. Truth was, Will missed seeing Hannibal fight, and was willing to use any excuse to do so.

Unfortunately for him, when the night of the party came he was virtually abducted by Metellus and brought into his cubiculum to meet two dry-humored men by the name of Cossinius and Furius. Aeliana and Hannibal were escorted into the atrium and _triclinium_ with the promise that he would join them soon.

The atrium was filled with guests and tables of food and slaves pouring wine without hesitation. There was very little to suggest a military connection, aside from a few decorated men getting drunk and eating too much like everyone else. In the middle of the room, the reflecting pool had been drained and filled instead with sand for the entertainment.

Hannibal looked around the room and saw a red-haired woman standing by herself. He sensed a profound sadness within her.

“Who is that noble lady?” he asked Aeliana.

“That is Lucretia Batiatus, wife of the late Quintus Batiatus,” Aeliana’s face was somber. “Her husband and unborn child were murdered during the rebellion in Capua. A rebel slave struck her directly in the womb.”

“I have heard her name,” Hannibal said. He looked interested.

“Madame Flos,” he continued, “Would you mind if I paid her my respects? They say she is the mouthpiece of the gods, and will give blessing if one requests.”

“Not at all,” Aeliana said.

Hannibal approached Lucretia, who was startled to see the armor-clad gentleman in front of her. He bowed, and introduced himself as the doctore for House Capanna. She extended her hand for a kiss, and he granted it.

“I have heard of your struggles, Madame Batiatus, and I want to extend my condolences,” he told her.

“Thank you,” Lucretia replied, “Losing both a husband and a child at once tries the faith. But I must believe that the gods have a purpose.”

Hannibal nodded, and stood next to her while he watched the communication styles and migration patterns of the guests. He leaned closer to her ear and whispered, “The gods always have a purpose, and it is theirs to dwell on. The trial for us, is to determine what our purpose must be.”

Aeliana watched them chat, noticing that he was standing quite close to Lucretia, and that she didn’t seem to mind. She found it odd.

It was true that Lucretia enjoyed his closeness; his strength and poise as he stood next to her. It reminded her of when she was in the arms of another gladiator, a slave her late husband owned, who she had an affair with not long ago. The difference was that this time the man who leaned over her, powerful and intense, belonged to someone else. She knew that when he whispered in her ear with warm, comforting breath, and pressed his body slightly against her, that it was his own desire to do so, not her command.

“Sometimes I wake in the early morning, and feel a tiny kicking inside of me,” Lucretia said, her eyes becoming wet. She looked up at Hannibal with sudden surprise. It was a look Hannibal was very accustomed to when speaking to people. A realization that they had revealed much more than they intended, and were now questioning themselves as to why they had momentarily lost control over their tongues. It was followed after by a glint of suspicion. And he smiled a bit when he realized that she recognized something else in him.

Quintus Batiatus was a small man; not athletic, not physically strong. But his words and skillful maneuverings could bring down senators. His eyes were always moving, darting as he thought, his ears always turned to listen. He often brought words out of people that they had no logical reason to utter. This Hannibal, who she had only just met, seemed a strange amalgamation of both of her past lovers.

“Men who have lost arms or legs in battle can still feel the limbs tingling,” he said. “Your child was a part of your body, growing inside of you and sharing your nourishment and your illnesses. To have such a part of you taken so forcibly, before the proper time, must feel as though you are constantly reaching out with a hand that isn’t there.”

She placed her hand on his sturdy and unmoving arm. She felt her heart race faster. The weaseling men who know dwelt in her life, and attempted to control her and steal her dignity were no match for this gladiator. She looked into his eyes and longed to cling to him.

Hannibal sensed this in her. His eyes narrowed and he straightened his back, making himself stand tall and allowing her to keep her hand on his arm. He could practically smell her hopelessness, and it was a cloying perfume. Lucretia had been disempowered by her husband’s death and only gained influence through the very tenuous belief that she had been blessed by the gods. The power of religion moved national leaders like pawns on a vast chess board, and it benefited Lucretia, but on the scale that Hannibal operated, it was useless. He did not play chess. He was a gladiator. He played people. This person standing next to him was exquisitely malleable. It almost seemed a waste that he didn’t need her.

“Do you trust the gods?” he asked “I know that the people say you are chosen, but do you have faith yourself?”

“I trust that there is a world beyond that of men,” she responded, “whether or not the inhabitants of that world hold us in their thoughts is unknown to me. Somehow I think there is a reason that I was kept tied to mortality while my husband walked onward without me. What that reason is, I cannot say.”

“You were not meant to join him just yet, that much is true. Perhaps he is preparing a place for you, to live in the afterlife, as husband and wife.”

Lucretia smiled and a tear ran down her cheek.

A high feminine laugh rang out from the large atrium. The sound of it struck against Hannibal’s ears and he turned suddenly, almost forgetting himself in front of Lucretia. Male laughter responded to it, like dogs salivating at the sound of offal hitting the dirt outside of a butcher shop. They didn’t seem to hear what he heard: a laugh of forced jubilation, masking a deep cynicism. He scanned the room for its source and saw amongst a crowd of men only the top of finely piled blonde hair. He felt Lucretia suddenly become tense, and her hand on his arm tightened a bit, as if pulling his attention back to her. Hannibal looked back and gave her a compassionate expression. He ignored the lilting chatter and giggling despite his curiosity.

“Those pieces of us, torn from our bodies, our hearts and wombs,” he whispered, “exist beyond our plane. That is why we still feel them with us. They call to us, waiting for us where we will finally exist in completion.”

Lucretia tried to hold back a sob. Her breasts ached for the child who belonged at them, her arms shook for want of her husband’s embrace. Both of them waiting for her, in an ethereal villa beyond her reach. As he spoke, the less physical desire she felt for him and the more she wanted to enter such a reality.

Aeliana continued to watch Hannibal and Lucretia as they spoke. Hannibal was increasingly close to her. His mouth moved almost without perception as he whispered in her ear. She felt goose bumps when she saw Lucretia begin to cry. What on earth was he saying to her? How was it that a wealthy wife of a lanista would allow a slave such familiarity of proximity? Suddenly, Lucretia leaned forward and kissed Hannibal on the cheek.

“Is this him?” Ilithyia’s voice called out. Aeliana turned to see a heavily pregnant young blonde woman walk in her direction. “Is this the cannibal gladiator?”

“Madame Glaber,” Aeliana said in greeting. “I am Aeliana Flos, soon to be wife of Will Capanna, who owns Hannibal. Yes, that is him, standing with Lucretia Batiatus.”

Ilithyia gasped and looked around with a wide, pleased smile.

“What a monstrous oddity to have in one’s possession!” she exclaimed. “I have watched him many times in the arena, but I must say standing in the same room as him is quite an unexpected pleasure.”

“Hannibal has retired from the gladiatorial games,” Aeliana explained. “He is now doctore at Will’s estate.”

“Oh, how disappointing,” Ilithyia said. “Forgive me, but I will miss his… showmanship.”

Hannibal looked at Ilithyia and bowed from across the room.

“I would very much like to meet him,” she said.

Aeliana called to Hannibal, and he came. Lucretia stayed where she was, holding her abdomen and watching Ilithyia. Hannibal also noticed Ilithyia’s swollen belly, but looked up at the woman’s face quickly.

“Hannibal, this is Ilithyia Glaber, wife of _Praetor_ Claudius Glaber.”

“At your service, Madame,” he said, and kissed her hand. She gushed.

“A gentleman cannibal!” Ilithyia said to the people next to her, who chuckled. “How funny! Aeliana, dear, your future husband must be quite tenacious to secure such an exotic creature.”

Hannibal bristled at being spoken of as though he wasn’t there, but he closed his eyes and bowed his head politely. Metellus approached and kissed Ilithyia’s hand as well.

“Is he our entertainment this evening?” Ilithyia asked him.

“Yes,” Metellus answered, “local lanistas have brought gladiators to spar with him here.”

“Marvelous!” she said. She reached out and began to run her hands over Hannibal’s chest, arms, and belly. He stood perfectly still. “What a brilliant physique. And he is not shorn, how like an animal!”

“It is not the custom of my people to shave below the face,” Hannibal said.

“Keeping to your barbaric customs,” she said, grinning wildly. She looked at Aeliana. “I wonder what other barbarisms he still maintains.”

Ilithyia broke out into a fit of giggles, letting her fingers drag down Hannibal’s treasure trail. Aeliana cleared her throat.

“Your fiancé is occupied in my cubiculum,” Metellus said to her. “He has agreed that we may begin the entertainment without him.”

Hannibal looked at Aeliana, who nodded. He seemed uneasy but bowed and walked toward the filled pond. Metellus gestured and another gladiator met Hannibal there. They began to spar on the senator’s command.

Hannibal drew out the fight for the crowd’s sake, but eventually got the better of his opponent, who signaled his surrender to Metellus. He was sent out and another jumped in, barely waiting to be told. Ilithyia frowned. When this opponent found himself knocked from his feet, he kicked about in the sand while Hannibal held him in place with his foot.

“Ugh,” Senator Metellus sighed at the gladiator’s owner, “Brutus, he isn’t going anywhere, command him to give signal.”

Brutus called out that the gladiator obey.

“I imagined something more interesting than this,” Ilithyia said loudly.

“What were you imagining?” Metellus asked.

“Well,” she said, gesturing at Hannibal, “you have commissioned such an infamous fighter to entertain your guests tonight, and so far we’ve seen only Hannibal and no cannibal.”

“You would have him finish someone off and eat him in the senator’s atrium… at a party?” Aeliana asked.

“Oh, boo!” Ilithyia responded to her. “What is the point of owning such a beast if you will never allow him out of his cage?”

“It’s hardly appropriate,” Aeliana muttered. Ilithyia rolled her eyes.

“Hannibal!” Metellus called. “You have my permission to devour this one.”

Ilithyia clapped excitedly. Brutus gasped.

“Oh calm yourself, Brutus, I’ll pay for this one. He wasn’t any good anyway.”

Hannibal looked at the man with surprise.

“Noble Senator,” Hannibal said cautiously, “I would be happy to oblige for the pleasure of you and your guests, if not that I worry on the wishes of my dominus in this matter. He is not present at the moment.”

Metellus waved his hand.

“Your dominus has granted you to me for the evening, I’m sure he is well aware of what performance you are most known for.”

Hannibal looked at Aeliana. She said nothing.

The gladiator pinned to the sand under Hannibal’s foot whimpered and began to squirm, trying desperately to reach his fallen sword or pull the weight off of him. Hannibal looked down at him, gazed into his eyes, and then shrugged.

The fallen gladiator shrieked when Hannibal’s sword fell upon him, but the sound was cut short when his head was severed and rolled over in the sand. Hannibal bent down and cut away a slab of his opponent’s belly, and lifted it up for the guests to see before lowering it into his mouth and consuming it in only a few bites.

“Oh gods,” Ilithyia cried out, “that is foul!”

She clapped some more and laughed.

Hannibal straightened up, blood staining his face. He locked eyes with Aeliana, and she didn’t look away until he exited the pond to go wash himself.

Hannibal leaned over the basin, washing his hands and chest, and splashed water onto his face. The guests outside of the room were chattering about his performance. He paused for a moment, peering to one side, then stood up and turned around. Ilithyia had slipped into the room without anyone outside noticing.

“That was quite a sight,” she said. “I am glad you had the chance to achieve your full potential.”

He bowed to her.

“My full potential,” he repeated dryly. “I did not want to go beyond the limits of the audience.”

She walked toward him slowly, hips swaying.

“People yearn to have their limits pushed,” she cooed.

“I see you are heavily laden. I do hope I didn’t cause you stress,” he added. “It would be a shame if, in your state, there should be unpleasant effects.”

She laughed and put a hand to her belly. To the imperceptive, she appeared amused and flirtatious. But her broad smile strained the muscles of her face. Her teeth were gritted a bit, eyes slightly glazed over. Beneath her debutante pretense, a desperate loneliness lurked.

“In my state,” she said, “I still wish to enjoy living my life as I please. I assure you, I am fine.”

“I am glad to have pleased you, Madame,” he replied. “It is true that you should enjoy this time that you have before you must become a mother.”

Ilithyia’s face dropped.

“Apologies, Madame,” he said, bowing again. “Naturally you will be a most happy mother, as you are a happy wife. I am sure you will enjoy every minute with your child. And he will enjoy every minute, of every day, with such a lovely mother.”

Tears began to form in Ilithyia’s eyes. Hannibal stood quietly. Then Ilithyia laughed again, wiping her eyes.

“Oh yes,” she said. “I look forward to such abundant happiness.”

“In my culture,” he continued, “one of nomadic barbarism, of course… women often didn’t become mothers, and would instead join the men in fighting battles and claiming new land.”

Ilithyia’s eyes widened.

“The women? How unheard of!”

“Yes, they were shield-maidens, brave women who stood with their brothers on the battlefield.”

Ilithyia came closer to him, and he approached her as well.

“They rode horses, engaged in sport, and did not bear children until they were nearing the end of their fruitfulness… if ever at all. Some didn’t feel interested in such pursuits, and chose instead to live out their lives in brash form, seeking only their own fulfillment, until the day they could be buried in a warrior’s grave.”

Ilithyia swallowed.

“Did the men hate them for it?”

“Not at all,” Hannibal replied. He was near enough to smell the perfume in her hair. “They were well-loved. It is not believed, among the Gautoi and Suiones, that women are confined to the selfless and honorable roles of wife and mother.”

“Scandalous,” she whispered, looking over his face.

“We are not the refined, dignified, and structured empire that Rome is. Perhaps were we not such savages…”

Ilithyia grabbed him by the back of his head and kissed him hard on the mouth. He pushed back into her, and clutched at her hips, running his hand over her backside and lifting up her skirt. She tilted her head back as he began to kiss her all over her long pale neck.

“Oh gods,” she sighed, “take me… rut me like a savage…”

Hannibal lifted one of her legs and pulled it over his hip. She curled it around him eagerly. Her pregnant stomach pressed up against him, so he lifted her up onto the counter that held the basin and sat her with her legs spread open. He dropped down to his knees and began kissing her thighs as he pulled away the layers of her skirt. She grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head closer to her vulva. He buried his lips between her open legs, kissing and licking her while she held his head in place.

“Fucking devour me,” she giggled, and he pushed his tongue deeper inside of her. Then he began to finger her while he lapped and flicked his tongue over her clitoris. She moaned and he grunted softly in reply, wetting her and opening her up.

“Hannibal,” she whispered, “what I wouldn’t give to run away with you right now, nothing to tie me here, no burdens to bear.”

Hannibal stood up and kissed her. She tasted her own pussy on his lips.

“What of your husband, your child?”

“I hate them both equally,” she said with a sad smile. Her hand reached down to free his cock from his clothing.

He kissed her again and pushed himself inside of her. She gasped, mouth open wide, eyebrows knit, staring into his eyes. He moved in and out, looking back at her with intent.

“I wish they were both dead,” she said, shuddering with the rhythm of his thrusts. She grasped his face in her hands. “Does that make me wicked?”

“No,” he said with conviction. “It only means you wish to be the one to live.”

Ilithyia moaned and threw her head back. He fucked her hard, running his thumb over clitoris and watching her as she climbed higher and higher…

 

“I beg your forgiveness, love, “Will told Aeliana after he’d left the cubiculum. “If I had known I would be spending so much time listening to details about money and war paraphernalia, I would have told Octavio to write the most succinct and careless refusal to an invitation he could bear to come up with.”

“What did they want?” Aeliana asked.

“In addition to my money?” Will replied. “They suggested I speak with Marcus Licinius Crassus, and see if we can pool our efforts.”

“You may actually like Crassus,” Aeliana said, raising her eyebrows as she spoke. “He isn’t an entirely foolish individual. Quite the philosopher actually.”

“Really?”

Aeliana nodded.

“My father has some respect for him. Crassus mostly keeps to himself, though.”

Will looked thoughtful, then glanced around the room.

“Where is Hannibal?” he asked.

“In the washroom, cleaning himself,” Aeliana answered. “He ate someone tonight.”

Will looked at her with astonishment.

“You joke.”

“No,” she replied, “Metellus commanded it.”

“Does he think he has the right?”

“Apparently.”

“I am sorry,” said Will, shaking his head. “Even a party with these people…”

“It isn’t your fault,” she said, “I only fear that having Hannibal causes people to make demands of us that we would rather avoid.”

“I won’t be lending him out again,” Will promised. “He deserves better than this treatment.”

 

“I trust you won’t be telling anyone of this,” Ilithyia said, leaning back on her hands and breathing heavily.

“I will be discreet, Madame,” Hannibal replied. He pulled her skirt back into place and helped her down from the counter.

“Good,” she said with a smile. She pecked him on the cheek and walked out, straightening her hair on the way.

Hannibal splashed water on himself again and dabbed himself dry with a cloth. Then he re-joined the party outside. He saw Will standing with Aeliana, and then looked around again for Lucretia. She was sitting alone in a corner. Her hands were folded in her lap. Hannibal approached her and she looked up at him and smiled.

“Your reputation holds true,” she said, and gestured next to herself on the bench. He sat, and returned her smile.

“I do what is demanded of me.”

“Don’t we all?” said Lucretia.

“Begging your pardon, Madame,” Hannibal said, “but I could not help but notice that you grow tense when in the presence of Ilithyia Glaber.”

Lucretia sighed and shook her head, faint smile still on her lips.

“We have a storied past.”

“Oh, is that the cause?” he said. “I thought it may be…”

She looked at him.

“Apologies, Madame, I speak out of turn.”

“No,” she urged him, placing a hand on his, “please say what you are thinking.”

“I thought it may be due to her being with child, when yours is lost to you. And due to her not really wanting that child, when you would cherish such a gift.”

“How did you know that Ilithyia does not want her child?”

“She does not hide the fact,” he answered. “She told me herself only moments ago.”

Lucretia looked angry.

“She is a fool.”

“I cannot disagree,” said Hannibal. He looked down at Lucretia’s hands, which were now tracing over her belly scar through her clothes.

“Does it still give you pain?”

“No, not pain,” she replied. “Only a dull ache.”

“Dull aches can sometimes be worse than sharp pains.”

Lucretia nodded.

“To think such a small incision could pluck my baby from this world.”

“A slightly wider incision can bring a baby into it,” Hannibal murmured.

“How do you mean?”

“There is a procedure, _ab utero caeso_ ,” he explained. “In which a physician may remove a living infant from a mother’s womb, if it is unable to pass through the natural canal. The life of both the mother and child can be saved.”

“Miraculous.”

“Truly. And rather a simple procedure. I recommend you read on it, if such a thing interests you.”

Aeliana was watching Hannibal again, out of the corner of her eye. Will noticed him sitting there and walked toward him. Hannibal stood up and bowed to Lucretia.

“It was a pleasure and an honor speaking to you, Madame. I hope you may find yourself as a complete person, as we all strive to be.”

He kissed her hand.

“I heard of how the evening progressed,” Will said as he approached. “I am sorry. I did not know that Metellus would demand such a thing from you.”

“It is nothing you must be sorry about,” said Hannibal.

“I think we should return home,” Aeliana advised.

“This is the best suggestion I have heard all evening,” Will agreed.

 

“I feel I must once again apologize to you,” Will said, after both he and Hannibal had returned to the villa. Will had invited him into his bedroom. He had removed his lacerna, and Hannibal was beginning to advance on him a bit.

“I should not have left you and Aeliana alone,” he said.

“Think of it no more, Dominus,” Hannibal replied.

He put his hand at the side Will’s neck and kissed the other side, biting him a bit. Will sighed, closed his eyes, and chewed his lower lip.

“Let me make it up to you,” he murmured. “Anything you like.”

“I have something I made for you, Dominus,” Hannibal said in a sly tone. Will had come to recognize when Hannibal’s voice grew deep and unctuous like this. It made him quiver, simultaneously aroused and terrified.

“Show me,” he said.

“First, I’ll need you to undress.”

Will didn’t have the chance to respond before Hannibal had stripped away his tunic.

“Come along,” Hannibal said. He put his hand on the back of Will’s neck and pushed him forward. He walked behind him, also gripping Will by the arm as he drove him out into the hall.

“No,” Will said, looking around for other slaves. The hallway was empty.

“It’s in the triclinium.”

Due to Will’s distaste for large company, the triclinium of House Capanna had not been used since Servius had passed. Will tried to pull away, not happy to be naked in the open like this, but Hannibal hustled him onward. His fingers wrapped around to the front of his throat and he tightened his grip on his arm, forcing Will to lean back against him as they moved quickly into the nearly empty room. All that remained was the reclined dining couches covered in silk cushions surrounding a very low table, and the thing that Hannibal had built for him, which stood amidst the couches almost like a centerpiece.

He had erected a wooden pole, with two L-shaped blocks jutting out of it like hooks. One was near the top of the pole, and the other midway down. On the floor lie a wooden beam and two piles of rope.

Hannibal grinned and pushed Will down on his knees in front of the dining couch. He lifted both of Will’s arms up and placed them, spread wide open behind him on the table, his shoulder-blades pulled tight. He brought the wooden beam to the table and placed it along his arms. He picked up both ropes and began lashing each arm to the wooden beam, forcing him to remain spread. Will was clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to keep from trembling already. He could sense that his fear made Hannibal more excited, but he still felt humiliated by his own emotional bareness while Hannibal always maintained a certain domineering and foreboding tranquility. In addition, even now he felt ashamed by his own perversity.

After his arms were secure, Hannibal tied the ropes off and let them dangle to the floor. Will sat on his ankles, knees spread apart, and gazed up at his gladiator. He was already feeling that strange sober-drunkenness sweep over him. It was weakening his will and softening his facial expression. All he could do was watch the man work and beg him with his eyes to do whatever he wanted with him.

Hannibal looked down at him with raised eyebrows. He looked like a man with his favorite pet. He ran his fingers through Will’s hair and stroked his face. Then he reached into his loin cloth and freed his cock. He gripped the back of Will’s head by the hair, and gently held him in position while he squeezed his face and forced his mouth open. He pushed his cock into his mouth, continuing to hold his hair, but putting his other hand around his throat, stroking his jaw line and jugular while he slowly thrust into him.

Will’s eyes were wide. He wrapped his mouth around the man and looked up at him.

“Suck,” Hannibal commanded, and Will did. His eyes closed, and Hannibal took his head in both hands and began to thrust harder.

Will breathed through his nose, a ragged and anxious sound. He couldn’t move forward or backward, couldn’t use his hands or tilt his head. He could only kneel before Hannibal and open his mouth wider, sucking desperately. But there was still a subconscious resistance, and he began to cough.

Hannibal pulled out of him, leaving his wet mouth still agape. Will gasped. He hung his head in shame over the way he groveled before Hannibal on his knees, losing any ounce of strength or self-respect he usually had. He had only watched while all delusions of control were eliminated when his arms were immobilized. He kept asking himself why, why would he allow him to do this, but still he remained in the position that Hannibal placed him.

Hannibal lifted the wooden beam so that Will was forced to stand up.

“What…” Will stammered. “What are you going to do?”

“I am going to crucify you, as a rebel slave might be crucified.”

A sound emitted from Will’s throat, like a croaking squeak, and he quickly cleared his throat, embarrassed for himself. The noises that the young dominus made caused Hannibal’s trademark snarl to appear on his lips. Seeing it only made Will feel more frightened of what would come next. Hannibal kept lifting up on the beam as he pushed Will toward the pole. His feet were barely able to keep on the ground as he reluctantly moved forward. Hannibal threw the loose ends of the rope over the wooden beams in the ceiling, and then hoisted Will up. His legs hung loose in the air, kicking a bit as Hannibal maneuvered his arm splint into place and lowered it down inside of the L-hook. The lower hook poked into his tailbone, and Will pushed away from the pole with his feet to avoid it.

Then Hannibal took one of Will’s ankles and lifted it so that his knee bent, and lashed his foot to the pole. Will began to hyperventilate as Hannibal took his other foot and bound it to the pole as well. He lifted himself by his arms, so that the hook dragged against his bottom, poking into his crack. He lowered himself, and once again it jutted against his tailbone uncomfortably. He tried lifting himself up by his ankles, but the position Hannibal had tied them made it impossible to put weight on them without pain.

“You will have to take a seat,” Hannibal sneered, “if you want relief for your arms and back.”

Will whimpered and twisted himself to look at the hook once more. It was a peg with a rounded top, and a thicker base.

“I can’t…” he replied in a pathetic whisper. Hannibal’s eyes glowed.

“Of course you can,” he replied without any compassion in his voice. The shuddering breathing, the hiccupping moans, every sound that Will made was having a dire effect on him as well. He leaned forward and lay his forehead on Will’s chest. He ran his hand down his torso and enjoyed the sensation of his lithe body trembling, his belly lurching from fear of his touch. He took Will’s chin in his hand and kissed him on the lips. Will craned his neck forward, kissing him back almost in an attempt to bargain for mercy.

“And you will, eventually,” Hannibal said. Then he turned, and walked out of the room.

“Hannibal!” Will called out after him, trying not to shout too loudly. “Please, don’t leave me like this!”

Hannibal was already gone, and Will was too afraid of alerting the house slaves to call for him anymore. He was mortified at the thought of one of them walking in and seeing him hanging there, naked, bound, and fully erect, with a wooden object poking into his ass.

“Please…” Will cried to himself, knowing that no one could hear him. He questioned himself, wondered why he was submitting again and again to this pain and degradation. It was becoming a gruesome addiction. He knew that if Hannibal came back, he could not truly command him to bring him down. He could only wait and let him take whatever he wanted from him. He wasn’t even sure that a strong command would have an effect on him at this point.

Hannibal walked out toward the barracks and retrieved his whip. He fastened it to his waistband and looked around. He noticed a bit of parchment sitting on the table next to the forge. It was drawn on with charcoal. It showed a T being transformed into the symbol Hannibal bore for House Cappana. His eyes narrowed.

“I have decided to take a cue from you,” Octavio’s voice came from the doorway to the barracks.

Hannibal turned to greet him.

“You have grown tired of your old master’s mark as well?” Hannibal said.

“I have hated it for many years. I hope that our dominus will change mine as he has changed yours.”

Octavio thought he saw Hannibal bristle.

“You do not think it wise?” he asked.

“I wouldn‘t say that,” Hannibal said, putting the parchment down. “In fact, I think it is a reasonable request. One he would surely grant you.”

“I shall ask him now, if he is available to speak to me.”

Hannibal quickly walked past him toward the doorway.

“I’m afraid he has asked to be left alone for today. Perhaps tomorrow, Octavio?”

“Of course,” Octavio answered.

Hannibal returned to the villa, and made his way back to the triclinium. He entered quietly, observing Will before he noticed the doctore had entered. Hannibal smiled when he saw that Will, arms aching from holding himself up, had lowered himself down onto the L hook. He was squirming and weeping softly, trying to keep the peg from entering him too deeply. Arms trembling, he was forced to relax a bit more, lowering himself further onto it. He moaned, lifting his head and staring at the ceiling. His back was arched beautifully and his body was covered in sweat. Hannibal moved closer and Will’s head shot to the side, looking in his direction with fear. Relief swept over him when he saw who it was coming toward him.

“Hannibal,” Will said in a most pitiable voice, “Please… it’s too much.”

He approached him and ran his hands all over his clammy skin. Will groaned and pleaded with him, trying again to lift up off of the peg, but finding only weakness in his tired arms.

“Imagine being left up here for hours, days,” Hannibal said, moving his hands wherever he pleased.

“Gods,” Will cried. “I can’t bear this any longer.”

Hannibal place his hand on Will’s thigh. His knees were pressed together tightly, thighs almost parallel to the ground. He moved his hand upward, trying to push between Will’s legs.

“Open up for me,” he commanded.

Will shook his head and bit his lip.

“It hurts.”

“I know,” Hannibal replied. His face was placid. His hands slid further between Will’s legs, prying them apart.

Will obeyed, slowly opening his thighs. He whimpered as he settled further onto the peg. Hannibal could now see it entering him. He reached down and began to stroke him, handling his testicles and running his hands over his cock.

“Ohhh…” Will groaned.

“It hurts less when I am touching you, though, doesn’t it?”

A broken bleat escaped from Will’s mouth. He leaned his head back against the wooden beam.

“Slide all the way into place,” Hannibal instructed.

Will began to cry softly once more.

Hannibal let go of him and stepped back. Will watched him and then hyperventilated again when he saw Hannibal removing his whip from his waistband. He couldn’t even bring himself to beg him not to. Every thought that went through his mind was instantly dissolved in subjugated fear.

Hannibal began to strike him, with light, stinging lashes on his thighs. They left tiny pink strands on his skin. Will seemed to forget how to speak, and only cried out in moans and whimpers.

“Sit down,” Hannibal barked.

Will spread his legs further open and brought himself fully onto the base of the peg. It pushed hard inside of him, filling him up completely. He hung his head and shuddered violently.

Hannibal pressed up against him and began to stroke him again.

“Thank me for making this easier for you,” his words struck Will, and he burst into gasping moans. “Thank me.”

“Thank you…” Will was finally able to squeak. “Thank you for…” His eyes began to roll back into his head. The high was setting in.

Will stepped back and again began to lash him, this time across his belly and chest. Will screamed and wriggled in his secured position. The pain woke him up.

“Please, please!” he cried.

Hannibal returned his soft, groping touch.

“Ohhh…” Will stared into Hannibal’s eyes. “Thank you for touching me. Thank you for making this easier for me.”

Hannibal’s feral snarl appeared and Will felt the addictive sensation sweep over him in waves. The throbbing pain was melting into him. He felt a tugging sensation and realized he was being hoisted up again, the splint for his arms lifting upward and pulling him off of the peg. Hannibal ducked down and removed the ligaments from his ankles. Will fumbled against the pole with his feet, trying to push away from it until Hannibal lowered him down to his knees on the floor. He took out his knife and cut the beam away from his arms so that they dropped to the floor as well.

Though his arms were sore and weak, he reached out for Hannibal, putting a hand on one of his hips. Hannibal began to massage his shoulders.

“Thank you,” Will whispered. He put his other hand on Hannibal’s cock and began to take it into his mouth. He felt such a strong urge to show him gratitude now, to grovel once more without holding back. To become like his slave. Hannibal took hold of his head now, and Will put his hands on the floor, letting the man drive himself into his mouth. In that moment, he could not even remember his name. He couldn’t remember whose house he was in or what he was to anyone else except to Hannibal. And right now, he was merely the source of his pleasure. He sucked and moved his tongue, gazing up at that beautifully animalistic snarl. His teeth were bared, his eyes fiery. When Hannibal burst into his mouth, Will sucked harder and took it all down his throat. Hannibal pulled away and held Will’s face up. He was breathing heavily, mouth wet, eyes blurring.

“Thank you,” Will said again. “Thank you.”

Hannibal bent down and scooped him up into his arms, and carried him back into his room. He lay him on his bed, head on the soft silken pillows. He brought him wine once more, trickling it into his mouth, soothing him with soft caresses, kissing his face. He watched him slip away into his masochist reverie. As beautiful as Hannibal always thought Will to be, it was these moments that he found him the most stunning. He held him and whispered to him in his own native language until he fell asleep. Then he returned to his own quarters.

 

Again Will woke in his chambers with a terrifying start. He looked around, examining every inch of his room before he relaxed into his pillows and began to fall asleep again. Then he heard a sound. A tiny whisper, which seemed to be coming from the foot of his bed. He was too afraid to open his eyes, but he listened.

He couldn’t make out most of it except, “Why would he… how do you know this… where were they sent?”

Will was holding so very still that his muscles began to ache.

“After all these years… I don’t understand…”

The whisper was growing a bit louder, and it was wracked with pain and despair.

“In the name of Spartacus…”

He heard the phrase clearly amidst the indiscernible whispers. It caused him to twitch involuntarily, and the whispering suddenly stopped. He could hear his blood rushing in his eardrums.

 _Wake up_ , he prayed, _Please, gods, let me wake now._

There was no end to the silence, and he feared that he was already awake, and the whispers were real. He began to force his eyes open, fighting his anxious instincts. He looked upward as he blinked and his sight came into focus.

The yellow, sunken eyes stared down on him.

Will tried to scream, but he felt the cold knife enter his belly again. Every fraction of its blade tore him wider and filled his gut with burning pain. He could only release a sharp grunt and a shudder.

“Where are they?” Ren asked. The same question that he still had no answer to.

“Fredo!” Will groaned, straining back from the blade.

“Where have you taken my children, Fredo?” he asked.

“I am not Fredo!”

Will’s voice was but a croak.

“WHERE ARE MY CHILDREN?” Ren screamed in his face, straddling him and spitting down upon him.

“I’ll find them!” Will screamed, sitting up, and then released a loud sound of relief when he found himself in a lit room again. He dressed quickly and ran out into the barracks.

“Hannibal!” he called.

The doctore rushed to greet him.

“Dominus?”

“We must find a way to convince Fredo to tell us where Ren’s children are,” he said.

“Dominus, you do not look well, should I fetch a physician?”

“No, no,” Will waved the suggestion away. “My sleep has been forfeit because of this issue. I must find Jonah and Abigail if I ever wish to close my eyes without fear again.”

“You have claim to his lands,” Hannibal reminded him, “but I knew Fredo to keep many things off of the books, including property removed from his main villa.”

“Threatening him is useless,” Will said. “I will have to appeal to his better nature.”

Hannibal shot him an incredulous look.

“Is there no way you can think of for me to get him to speak?”

“It is very difficult to prompt a man to use his tongue,” Hannibal told him. “After one has ripped it from his mouth.”

Will thought for a moment, then exclaimed, “I will have to give it back to him!”

Hannibal smiled at the young man tenderly.

“Noble Dominus,” he said, “you are a man who seizes immeasurable goals. If you believed you had the power of healing growth, you would not be persuaded otherwise.”

“Ah, you mock me,” Will pointed at him with a scolding finger, but he had a smile on his lips.

“Not at all,” Hannibal said. “Trust me when I say that those are words of great admiration, on my part.”

Will beamed with satisfaction and rushed back to the villa.

“Octavio!” he called, and the man responded quickly. “Please let the stable-master know I need to speak to him about some items, and I may have to ask you to run to the smithy.”

“Certainly, Dominus,” replied Octavio.

Hannibal leaned against the fence alongside the barracks as his men took a break for lunch. He was peeling an apple with his curved blade. He saw Octavio walking out toward him and smiled warmly as he grabbed another apple from the barrel and tossed it to him.

Octavio caught it and returned the expression.

“Dominus is creating a contraption of some sort in his cubiculum,” he said between munches.

“What sort of contraption?” Hannibal asked.

“He has asked the stable-master about building a clamping mechanism, as well as asking for a type of thick flexible leather, and a laminating agent. He is assembling what he has at his desk, and sending me to the city to fetch more items.”

Hannibal furrowed his brow, letting the long single peel fall to the ground.

“I understand he is meaning to encourage words from Fredo Ligare,” Octavio murmured.

“Yes.”

Octavio laughed and said, “Perhaps it is some kind of horrific torture device.”

Hannibal thought for a moment and then looked back up at the villa with wonder in his eyes. Then he chuckled to himself and took a bite of his apple.

“No,” he replied, “I do not think that is his design.”

 

Days had passed before Aeliana chose to call on Will. It was unusual for him to send for her, even when he wanted to see her, and she was beginning to feel guilty for ignoring him. She was surprised to find, upon entering the villa that Will was too preoccupied to have been upset at her absence. When Octavio told her that he was working on a “project” she assumed it was a letter to another academic much like her father. As he escorted her to the cubiculum, she saw him hunkered over his desk, with bits of leather and metal and pots of glue-like substance strewn out before him. He looked up at her with a very happy smile.

“I haven’t used these tools since I was very young,” he said. “I don’t know why I abandoned tinkering. It is the most satisfying thing in the world.”

“What in mundus are you making?” she asked.

“It’s a surprise!” he said, almost giddy. “You’ll recognize it when it’s done.”

Then he stopped and looked up at her.

“Oh, forgive me.” He came toward her and gave her a kiss. “I really am very happy to see you.”

He looked back at his “project” with some concern.

“I suppose I can leave it for now. It’s time for a break.”

The two walked out into the atrium and he practically collapsed on the lounge.

“Aah,” he moaned, “I didn’t realize how stiff I was until I rested.”

Aeliana sat beside him and began to massage his back, neck, and shoulders. He sighed contentedly.

“Oh, I love you,” he muttered into the pillow.

“I really must speak to you about something, Will,” Aeliana said.

He rolled over.

“Anything.”

She looked pained, and chose her words carefully.

“I am concerned,” she said, “about Hannibal.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have been watching him lately,” she said. “Whenever he is at functions, around other people, you see.”

He nodded.

“He is always talking to somebody. He strays away and finds someone alone, and talks to them quietly. And I see them… their faces, their body language. They all react to him so strangely.”

“They don’t expect him to be so eloquent,” Will said.

“Of course,” Aeliana conceded, “he is surprising in that regard, but it is not what I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you suppose he does that, Will?” she asked. “Find people who are alone and whisper in their ear. What is he saying?”

Will’s forehead wrinkled.

“What do you think he is saying?”

“I don’t know, but don’t you think it is odd? And he is so familiar with them, and they allow him that familiarity, even people of very high standing…”

“You think this inappropriate, because he is a slave?”

Will’s voice was strained.

“Not inappropriate,” she corrected, “unusual.”

“I figured you for a stoic, Aeliana,” he scoffed.

“You know my feelings on the matter of egalitarianism.”

“Then what does it matter to you if an intelligent man engages in meaningful conversation with high-standing people, were it not that he is a slave?”

Aeliana stammered, feeling herself losing control of the conversation.

“He frightens me,” she said in a hushed voice.

Will sat up and stared at her.

“Why?” he asked. “Is it because of the things he has been made to do in the arena, for the entertainment of other people who had him under their control?”

“It is because of how easily he leaves that behind!” she exclaimed. He looked shocked.

“You want him to dwell on it?”

“Normal people, Will,” Aeliana struggled to explain, “Normal people are affected by such things. They are treated cruelly and they can become like animals and that… that is so pitiable, I understand. Some can come back from it, or at least I’d like to think so.”

“Hannibal has come back from it.”

“Hannibal is amidst it!” she said in a flustered voice. Her words began to spill out. “He becomes so beastly that it is a horror to watch, and then, moments later his words are slinking in through the lone person’s ear as easily as his blade slices through flesh. There is no line between the beast and the man, and it… Will… it chills me to the very core of my being. I can bear it no longer. You must be rid of him.”

Will’s eyes grew wide as he looked back at her. She began to tremble.

“Please, Will… find a compassionate place for Hannibal to live, but away from you and me.”

“No,” he replied.

She began to breathe heavily.

“I tell you, I can’t bear to be in his presence, I feel so afraid. If you love me, and you want me to live here with you…”

“I have told you I love you, Aeliana,” he said. His voice was low and calm, and it made her panic feel more extreme.

“I believe you,” she said, fighting back tears and staring at the ceiling, “but I can’t live in this villa knowing he is out there.”

Will shook his head and covered his face with his hands.

“Please do not resent me for asking you this,” she begged.

“Please do not ask me not to resent you.”

She stood up.

“You would choose your gladiator?”

Will didn’t look at her.

“You have turned it into a choice, not me,” he replied. “Not me.”

“I have asked you what he means to you, but I know you withheld. I have seen the marks he has left on you.”

Will stiffened and wrapped his clothing tighter around himself.

“What can I do, so you don’t need him anymore?” she asked. “Do you want me to hurt you, Will? It is not my wish but I can do that for you.”

He was silent, face red from humiliation. She wiped the tears from her face.

“I am sorry. I despise an ultimatum. But this isn’t a move for control, I swear to you. This is about my most basic comfort and happiness.”

He still didn’t respond, still couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

“I will go now,” she said. “Again, I am sorry.”

When Aeliana had exited the villa, Will stood up and watched her from the window as she climbed into the carriage. His eyes were wet and he felt a horrible pain in his throat. Then his head began to swim and he had to put his hands on his knees and breathe for a moment.

When her carriage was out of sight, he felt so weary that he walked back to his bedroom. His family shrine stood in the corner. He hadn’t lit the candle in quite some time. He stared at it for a moment, and then approached. He lit the candle, and then moved the family patron statuette, into place while he began to pray. Suddenly, he felt a strange feeling come over his mind. He lifted the statuette and turned around.

Standing behind him was Rufina. Still in her sleeping tunic, still with her lovely tousled red curls, still with the most adoring expression on her face. She put her hand to his chest and stroked.

“You have come all the way out here to see me?” she asked.

Will just stared at her, bewildered.

“I have often dreamed to wake and find you standing in my room, looking over my bed. I didn’t know it was a possibility.”

Suddenly, Will felt waves of venom pour into his mind, pushing the blood against the back of his eyes. He no longer saw this woman as lovely or her expression appealing. He saw her as a lowly, contemptuous thing. A pig worth no more than the scant amount of flesh on her bones.

“No… it is you who have come into my home, uninvited,” he snarled. “You have insulted my family, and so you have insulted me. You do not even deserve the breath you breathe or the valuable organs you rely on.”

He lifted the statuette above and to the side and brought it down hard, again and again until her skull was dented and collapsed from the blows. He dropped the statuette, and looked down at her. Her tunic fell open, revealing the side of her naked body. Flesh.

“What a fucking waste,” he muttered. Then thought again. His mouth began to salivate. “It was a waste, while this pig lived. Now it won’t be.”

Will suddenly jolted out of his vision. He looked down at the floor, which was clean. The statuette remained in his hand, untouched by gore. His hand began to shake uncontrollably, and the statue fell with a loud thud. He stumbled out of the room. Octavio caught him.

“Dominus, are you all right?”

“I must speak with Hannibal,” he said.

Hannibal entered Will’s cubiculum, and looked down at the arrangement of objects on his desk. His eyes sparkled as he touched a hinge for a metal clamp. Will was sitting in his chair, staring ahead at nothing.

“You wished to speak with me, Dominus?”

Will nodded.

“I feel like you are the last person left with whom I can truly confide.”

Hannibal looked at him with a peaceful expression.

“Surely Madame Flos…”

“Aeliana is gone,” he said in a hoarse voice.

Hannibal was surprised, and his tongue clicked faintly.

“Apologies, Dominus.”

“No matter,” Will said, clearing his throat. His eyes glistened with restrained tears.

“I thought you wished to confide in me,” Hannibal said softly.

Will laughed as someone who desperately needed a release.

“I want to, I didn’t say I was good at it.”

Hannibal sat on the edge of his desk.

“I feel…” Will continued, “as though I am losing my mind.”

“Why do you feel this way?”

“It started with bad dreams, as I slept,” he explained. “Now those dreams have escaped into my waking moments.”

“Are you experiencing a bad dream right now?”

“I just did,” Will replied. “I dreamt, for a moment, that I was Rufina’s killer. That I wanted her dead, and when I killed her I felt nothing but pleasure.”

Hannibal turned toward him completely. He had an indiscernible expression on his face.

“Did you want to kill Rufina, when she was alive?”

“No,” Will answered. “I didn’t care for her a great deal, but I did not wish for her death.”

Hannibal nodded.

“Do you wish she was still alive?”

“I can’t say that is true either,” Will confessed.

“Why did Madame Flos leave?”

“She…” Will paused for a moment. “I think she wanted the scales of my heart to tip more in her favor.”

“Once more, you struggle with achieving balance,” Hannibal said.

“I need the both of you,” Will said. “I cannot find harmony within myself.”

“Are those your words, or is the ghost of your father still making demands from his bed?”

“No,” Will shook his head. “I love Aeliana. When I thought I could have you both I was happier than I ever have been in my life.”

“Strip away the belief that you are defined by hearth and home, by status and lineage. And what do you have left?”

“I can’t just do that.”

“Start with the belief that you are an extension of your father. Consider yourself only Will Capanna.”

“I don’t believe that I am an extension of my father.”

“You believe you are an extension of everyone around you.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” Will said.

“Today you imagined that you were Rufina’s killer. This was a woman who was rude to you, struck you, and mocked you. It is better now that she is gone but you, Will Capanna, could not wish she was dead. So you became someone who did. You became the person who could kill Rufina Porcius.”

“I have also been Fredo Ligare,” Will said. “What does that mean?”

Hannibal looked at him quizzically.

“In which case were you Fredo?”

“Ren comes to me, in my dreams, demanding to know where his children are. When I say I don’t know, he stabs me, as he did Fredo.”

“You are taking responsibility for the lives of complete strangers. Children you have never met. You believe that the father of those children is making demands of you from beyond the grave, much like your father makes demands of you to bring him grandchildren.”

“I don’t recall my father ever stabbing me,” Will chuckled.

“Didn’t he?” Hannibal asked. “When he implied that your desires and personality were not adequate for his family name?”

“He didn’t mean that.”

“I believe that your father loved you. But he did not understand you. Only you can come to that understanding. Find your own balance, between objects of your choosing, not his.”

“You have found balance yourself,” Will murmured. “Between the man I see here before me, giving me kindly advice, and the man I have seen in the arena vanquishing his foes with gnashing teeth.”

Hannibal grinned.

“We all have that much within us,” he said. “Even you.”

“Maybe so.”

Hannibal stood up and walked toward the door. Will began to follow, but when Hannibal turned around to face him, Will saw a gleam in his eye that made him stop short. He started to walk toward him again, and felt compelled to put out a hand to his chest. He began to caress him, with a thoughtful look on his face.

That curious ephemeral sneer passed over Hannibal’s lips, and Will felt his heart begin to throb.

“Where were you that night, Hannibal?” he asked.

“What night, Dominus?”

“The night Rufina was killed.”

“I was holding down the villa, Dominus,” Hannibal whispered with a hiss.

The hair on Will’s arms and neck prickled.

“What have I…?” Will began. He swallowed when Hannibal pressed toward him. “Who did I bring into my household, when I saved you from the pit?”

“A new scale for balance,” Hannibal answered.

“Tacitus served Spartacus,” said Will, retreating. Hannibal pressed onward. “Who do you serve?”

Hannibal showed Will his brand.

“My house.”

Hannibal looked through the doorway of the cubiculum.

“Which reminds me,” he said. “I believe Octavio has a request.”

Will passed him, not breaking eye contact until he exited the room. Octavio was indeed waiting for him in the atrium.

“What is it you need Octavio?” Will asked him in a quiet voice. The old man bowed and then stopped, a nervous look on his face. Will put his hands on his arms for encouragement.

“Many years ago,” Octavio said, “before you were born. I was torn away from my family and bought by a harsh master. He was not like your father.”

Will hung his head.

“He was not like you,” Octavio added. “He was foolish and… inexcusably cruel.”

“I wish you had never suffered in that way.”

“No, do not wish that. Those days hold a mirror to my days now, and I am happier for it.”

“It is not unlike what Hannibal told me,” Will mused.

“I ask of you precisely what he did,” explained Octavio. He began to lift his tunic up his thigh. “This. This is the loathsome mark of my first master.”

Will saw the brand of the letter “T” had been burned into Octavio’s flesh.

“I did not know you bore a brand,” Will said.

“I have kept it hidden at all times. I considered peeling my own skin off with a blade on numerous occasions, but something held my hand. Now I know it is because I was meant to transform it, like Hannibal has done with his hated mark.”

“You wish to be re-branded?”

“Yes, Dominus, if you please.”

Will swallowed. The idea of branding dear Octavio sickened him. But the pleading look in his eyes swayed him, and he could not refuse.

“Thank you, Dominus. This means a great deal to me.”

“I can do the job, Dominus,” Hannibal said, approaching from behind. Will was startled. “I know you do not cherish the infliction of pain on others.”

Octavio bowed and left the room.

“That would be your job,” Will whispered.

Hannibal placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. It felt oddly comforting, despite how afraid he was of the man.

“I will never lie to you, Dominus,” Hannibal said. “So think on everything you want to ask me, and make sure that you really want to know the answer to those questions.”

“Aeliana,” Will cried, head in his hands. “She was right, and I showed her nothing but scorn. She saw the serpent at my heel.”

Hannibal cringed.

“She saw…”

Will interrupted.

“How dangerous are you?”

“I am only a danger to the other predators,” he said. He pressed up against his back. He pulled Will’s hands away from his face and held them down. “Just know that everything I have done, and everything I will do in the future springs from my devotion to you.”

“Do not act any more without my order,” Will said.

“I am your whim, Dominus.” Hannibal replied, whispering in his ear. His hot breath made Will shudder. Why did these brutal arms feel so wonderful holding him in place?

He allowed Will to turn around to face him. He brushed the hair across his forehead, scanning his face affectionately.

“I’ll leave you to your project, Dominus. It is coming along very nicely.”

Will stood still for a moment, then returned to his cubiculum.

“Would it be acceptable,” Hannibal asked, “If I made a special trip? I think I know of something that might help you with your contraption.”

Will looked at him questioningly.

“It will take but a couple of days, Dominus. I believe you will find the item useful.”

The young man nodded, and disappeared through the doorway.

 

Much later, in Capua, Ilithyia lie in her bed moaning and clutching the hand of her body slave. Her baby was on its way, and the anchor of her life was being cast, for better or worse. Suddenly a shriek rang out from another room. Ilithyia looked through her doorway to see Lucretia walk into view.

“I thought I heard a cry,” Ilithyia said, relieved. Then lightning flashed and she could see that Lucretia was holding a large knife and her dress was stained with blood.

“What have you done?” Ilithyia whispered.

“What was always intended,” Lucretia hissed. “To see curse upon this house lifted.”

Ilithyia’s slave stood up and walked toward Lucretia, who immediately stabbed her in the belly. Ilithyia screamed, only able to watch from her bed as Lucretia straddled the slave and stabbed her repeatedly while whispering, “Ssh…”

When she was dead, Lucretia looked up at Ilithyia and said in a cheerful voice, “No one left to come between us.”

Ilithyia stared at her, terrified. The child inside of her was on the brink of leaving her womb.

“Stop, please,” she begged through tears. “We are friends, are we not?

Lucretia spoke with a bitter countenance.

“The very best.”

“Then why would you do this?” Ilithyia sobbed. “Why would you take my life, and that of my child?”

“Your child?” Lucretia asked, her face reflecting the ludicrousness of Ilithyia’s claim. “You are but a vessel. Carrying a gift from the gods, to the House of Batiatus.”

Ilithyia gasped.

“Now then,” continued Lucretia, “let us see it unwrapped.”

Panic overcame Ilithyia. She began to cry, but her desperate whimpers turned into screams as Lucretia climbed over her bed toward her, knife in hand. She lifted the pregnant woman’s dress and looked for the spot she had seen in the books Hannibal mentioned. It was the same location of the scar on her own belly.

“Ab utero caeso,” she muttered.

Ilithyia put her hands in front of her, but Lucretia grabbed them and held her down as she began to slit her lower belly open. The sound of her friend’s pain-filled screams didn’t stop her, or change the placid expression on her face.

“Oh,” Lucretia released a hushed moan when she saw that Hannibal was right. The baby could be pulled out through the slit, ready to live and breathe in this world. She dug her hands inside and lifted him from his organic cradle.

Ilithyia could barely breathe from the pain, choking and sobbing. She watched in horror as Lucretia snipped the umbilical cord and swaddled her infant in a blanket.

The madwoman slowly walked out of the villa, the stolen newborn crying in her arms. Ilithyia desperately crawled after her on her belly across the marble floor, past the bodies of the house-slaves Lucretia had slaughtered.

“Lucretia!” she screamed, dragging a trail of blood behind her.

Lucretia approached the edge of a monstrous cliff beside the ludus. She held the child out in front of her and smiled down at him.

“Hush now, little one,” she said, “You are safe now. You are loved, and shall be forever.”

Ilithyia stumbled outside, falling onto the dusty ground. The front of her dress was soaked in her blood. Lucretia turned back to stare at her, as she crawled toward her. A pitiful smile touched Lucretia’s face as Ilithyia clambered to her feet again and begged for mercy.

“Quintus always wanted a son,” Lucretia told her in a soothing voice. “Because of you… we shall have one.”

Lucretia looked down at the baby’s face, still smeared with blood and afterbirth. Tears stung her eyes. The child in her arms felt much like the returned limb. She gave Ilithyia one last grateful look, and pushed backward from the edge of the precipice. She dropped as a stone.

Ilithyia fell to her knees, unable to muster a scream. She lacked the strength to even clutch at her wound to stop the bleeding.

“No,” she breathed.

The blood loss and shock at what had just happened caused her to fall to the ground in a faint. As she sank into delirium, she thought she heard the sound of children laughing. Or was it the creaking sound of the ludus gate opening? She looked over her shoulder to see a man dressed in gladiator armor walking toward her. As he grew closer, she could see nothing but a shadowy figure, and then nothing at all. Strong arms lifted her up from the blood-stained dirt and began to carry her. Then her consciousness faded to oblivion.


End file.
